


The Stories we Tell

by KinugoshiDofu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Jotunn | Frost Giant, M/M, Slow Burn, kind of, my first Thorki, thor falls in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 11:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16492067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinugoshiDofu/pseuds/KinugoshiDofu
Summary: Thor grew up listening to the voice of his mother by his bedside, telling him tall tales of the adventures of the Allfather in Jotunheim - he remembers flipping through his teacher's books and seeing the illustrations of gigantic creatures, skin made of ice and feet the size of houses.When Frigga announces her next apprentice to be none other than Prince Loki of Jotunheim, Thor is quite sure she must have lost her mind. Loki is not what he ever imagined any frost giant to look like, but then Loki is also not like any frost giant, period. Thor wonders if he lay in bed at night, listening to his mother's voice as she tells him of the wonders of Asgard. Most of all he wonders what adventures they will end up making together, and who they shall regale them to.





	The Stories we Tell

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Loki was never taken by Odin to be raised as his son so just roll with this ok? Also this is my first time writing Thorki, so I don't know if I'm supposed to be apologising for something? It might be ooc but then it's also normal because Loki grew up in a totally different setting so he would be different than we're used to?  
> ANYWAY I hope you enjoy this!

The Stories we Tell

It’s been a long, arduous day out in the training fields, the weather this time of year so hot and humid that all he can think of is the cold amber ale waiting for him in the tavern and an evening spent in the company of his friends.

He knows that instead he is expected to attend the welcoming gala for his mother’s new apprentice – something he has done a handful of times before, whenever Frigga deemed someone from the Nine Realms worthy enough to learn from her. She has not had an apprentice in some time, however, as she had not yet found someone who she was completely pleased with.

Candidates would come to Asgard, Thor would treat them as brothers and sisters, and after mere months Frigga would change her mind, only to have her apprentice dismissed and her mood turned brooding again.

He has never given it very much thought, but recently, as his own skill in sword fighting and hand-to-hand combat grows under the watchful eye of the Allfather, he has wondered if perhaps his mother has felt left out somehow. He is not physically small enough to learn her skill in combat, and has never shown any aptitude to magic, so that there is very little that he can learn from his mother when it comes to strength and agility. Perhaps years of watching her only son train under a guiding hand other than her _own_ has made her long for someone of her own to teach.

When she had announced who was to become her new apprentice, Thor had been quite sure she had lost her mind – however, the Allfather had not batted an eye so Thor himself had not spoken either, just nodding his head and resuming dinner instead.

Now that it is mere hours before the welcoming feast however, he is starting to feel a little incredulous all over again. Will a frost giant even fit in their hallowed halls?

As it turns out, this one fits quite easily.

Thor is pretty sure it’s some kind of joke, at first. The court has already gathered and he is talking to the Lady Sif when his mother walks in with her guest, and it goes remarkably quiet, almost immediately.

He is ridiculously small for a Jotun, despite Thor having heard that he is actually Laufey’s son – Laufey, who towers over even the strongest of his warriors – and his features are far more human than any other Frost Giant he has ever seen in his books.

He is decked out with golden jewellery all over his lean body, multiple chains around his neck running down and across his chest. He is wearing golden arm plates with green diamonds and sapphires decorating them, matching the staff he is holding, and is covered in an emerald chiffon loin cloth on top of his black tights. His cloak, held together at his collar bones with heavy chains, matches the colour of his outfit, green and black molten together. There’s golden accents woven into his locks, and he is wearing a golden horned crown atop his raven hair.

The only thing that gives his heritage away is his blue skin, darker tribal patterns running across his torso and arms, lighter across the palm of his hand.

Thor remembers learning about Frost Giants during his many private lessons, and he had always listened carefully as his father told stories of Jotunheim’s defeat, hanging on his father’s every word as he accounted the battle. He remembers the pictures in his books and the description his father gave him; Frost Giants the size of mountains, nothing but a cloth to cover up.

He isn’t sure what exactly _this_ is, but _this_ is not _that_ , for sure.

By the time he realises he’s staring, Lady Sif is already giving him an odd look, repeating his name, and Frigga has gone up to Odin with her guest, the three of them exchanging greetings. A servant paces by carrying a tray of golden mead – Thor takes a goblet and drinks from it deeply, averting his eyes and meeting Sif’s with a grin.

He thinks maybe he’s forgotten how to breathe for a moment there, because he feels a little bit winded without having done any exertion – besides, not even exertion gets him winded, usually – and Sif is still giving him that look, a little bit disapproving and a lot of _is he going mad?_ It’s a look she reserves for when he is having too much fun in the tavern or when he suggests they ride their horses into known no-one’s land.

His mother is all smiles when she comes over, her hand on the boy’s hip as she guides him in the right direction. Sif politely excuses herself and Thor is left feeling a little bit weird, self-conscious of how he’s emptied half his glass already and how under-dressed he looks compared to the raven.

“This is my son, Thor,” she leans into the raven almost conspiratorially, as if it’s some inside joke, and Thor is pretty sure she must have mentioned him before – when the prince outstretches his hand to greet him, Thor’s eyes meet the man’s crimson ones, “Loki, Prince of Jotunheim.”

Neither of them smile, but the prince curtseys politely before shaking Thor’s hand – his nails are painted black, something that Thor figures might seem out-of-place on anyone else, but it matches the colour of his skin very nicely.

It’s kind of like electricity – except Thor knows what electricity feels like, _power_ , and this isn’t it – but _sharper_ , like bright fire without the painful ache. He thinks maybe Loki’s skin is cooler than most but to Thor it’s burning vividly, little pinpricks of light all along where the blue fingers are brushing against his own skin.

Frigga beams at him proudly before leaving their side to greet someone a little ways away, allowing them to get acquainted.

Thor isn’t exactly sure why, but for some reason he is still thinking about the pictures in his books – he’s spent hours as a child, staying up deep into the night to read more of the heroic stories, the drawings in his books dancing before his eyelids even as he finally drifted off to sleep – and so he opens his mouth to say something perfectly suited to say as Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, and then instead blurts out, “so you’re pretty small for a frost giant, right?” and promptly wishes he _hadn’t_ had that mead.

He’s pretty sure if the Warriors Three had been besides him they would have laughed at the joke and broken the tension, but Loki, son of Laufey, looks very much under-impressed. One brow shoots up in surprise, and then he continues to purse his lips in disdain. After giving Thor a simple look-over that makes him feel uncomfortably self-aware, he flashes a polite – if completely insincere – smile, and moves on to join Frigga without even as much as speaking a single word.

All through their meal Thor is finding it very hard to focus. Volstagg is keeping them entertained with tall tales, but his eyes keep wandering to where Loki is sat next to his mother, engaged in conversation with one of his father’s warriors and he feels utterly _ridiculous_.

Thor can tell from where he is sitting, that the prince, objectively, is quite witty. He makes one clever comment after the other, making the warrior laugh and Frigga smile in amusement. It becomes obvious all too soon that Loki isn’t as frigid as Thor has imagined him to be – it is just something Thor specifically has brought out in him. And he’s pretty sure his own retched tongue is to blame for it, too. All brave legends Loki may have heard of him, wiped away with a single absentmindedly remarked comment.

He isn’t prone to embarrassment, but if the ground wishes to suck him up, he will gladly go not to be faced with another one of the prince’s looks of disdain.

After dinner they all join their glasses in salutation of the prince one last time, and then soon the crowd disperses into separate groups. Fandral finishes off his pint and suggests they take their celebration to the tavern, much to the agreement of the others.

Thor finds his mother in the crowd, but her taller companion has disappeared.

“Mother,” he greets her fondly, and she smiles up at her son as he takes her by the arm – he is relieved Loki has apparently not shared their uncomfortable meeting with her, “would it be okay if we took the prince to the tavern to celebrate his arrival?”

“What a splendid idea,” her tone of voice is warm, and Thor can tell he has uprightly pleased her, “unfortunately he has already turned in for the night. The journey exhausted him.”

Thor frowns, but dismisses his own uncomfortable thoughts quickly, determined not to second guess himself. The prince has no way of knowing Thor was about to invite him – therefor that could not be the reason he fled to bed so quickly.

His mother walks him out the castle and tells him how lucky she is to have him, how she wishes he and Loki shall become good friends soon. He doesn’t have the heart to regale her the tale of how he has already majestically screwed that up.

Instead he joins his friends for more ale and decides that although he cannot drown his miseries, he shall surely try. There is nothing like merriment and fair maidens and handsome lads to cheer him up.

Come early morning he has found something to distract him long enough so that he may at least rest in a warm bed in peace – well _someone_ is more accurate, but he doesn’t bother very much with semantics when it comes to this. The man who served their beers at the tavern is tall and handsome and the things he does with his tongue are relatively entertaining – at least entertaining enough to keep his mind otherwise occupied for the time being.

Under way to his sleeping chambers, however, they almost _literally_ bump into the Jotun prince.

Now, Thor is not usually one to feel shame when it comes to these things – it’s been long since he’s been caught and scolded, as his mother now will just shake her head, and his father has come to wink in agreement before disappearing off into the night. He has retained quite the reputation in the court, and though he loathes the idea of being considered _vulgar_ he has always been a master at walking that fine line.

However he does not doubt that his mother is above cursing his ass into the next century if she ever finds out this is one of the first impressions he’s left on her esteemed guest. If he hasn’t been in trouble because of his potty mouth before, he sure is now.

The boy, for his part, seems to realise Thor’s distress, and without even having to be told, he gives a nod to Loki, then the blond, and leaves hastily, struggling with his blouse as he goes.

“You’re up late,” Thor quips, hoping to draw those scarlet eyes to him instead – as it is, they are still following the servant as he scatters around the corner.

“I wanted some fresh air,” Loki’s voice is very cool, and it’s with a start that Thor realises he hasn’t heard the other man speak until now.

Before Thor can comment however, Loki has already turned on his heel, continuing on his way to the balcony. Thor quickly falls into step behind him, very acutely aware of how he should be saying something to explain the situation, but instead keeping still.

He notices for the first time that the prince is dressed in just a long black robe, his long hair braided and falling down his shoulder. The colour black suits him, and Thor finds his eyes wandering to the symbols embroidered in the soft fabric, golden lines similar to the ones on Loki’s skin as the train dances behind him in waves of silk.

They walk in a slightly uncomfortable silence until they’ve reached the balcony gardens, where Loki takes a seat at the first bench they reach. Frigga keeps flowers here, their sweet aroma thickening the humid air further, the colours dulled out in the dark. Thor sits down beside him and tries not to notice how much of his thighs are showing – in the silver light of the night sky his skin looks almost translucent, and that is a distracting thing to notice indeed – the prince’s long fingers reaching out to touch one of the roses.

It’s too dark to make anything out besides the glow of the prince’s skin and the outline of his face, high cheek bones and obscured lips, face turned away light of the stars. There is something oddly surreal about this moment, his hair falling into his face and cupping his cheeks, his fingers posed on the petals.

Thor watches as the prince takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He remembers his teacher telling him that Jotunheim is said to see very little light, even in summer, and wonders if that is why Loki had left the party earlier. Perhaps the sunlight had drained him.

“I used to read about you when I was a child,” he doesn’t mean to say it out loud – it just kind of wanders out of his head before he can stop it – and for a moment he wonders if it is perhaps just a thought he’s had, for Loki doesn’t appear to have heard him, staying still.

Then, Loki tips his head slight, the corner of his mouth quirked just the smallest bit, and he replies, eyes still closed, “I’ve read about you, too.”

Thor thinks about that for a moment, allows his mind to wander as he wonders what Loki had looked like as a younger man. He imagines Loki on the cold white planes of Jotunheim, blue-skinned and tiny amongst all his gigantic siblings, dressed with only a loin-cloth and reading to them from a book about Asgardian history. He imagines Loki dressed in furs in his chambers, a palace of ice, his mother by his side as he picks out a book.

He wonders if Loki’s upbringing is as intriguing as he imagines it to be, small man amongst tall giants, magic and verbosity and fighting skills, set deep in his bones, and if the man has heard of Hide-and-Seek, and if he is any good at it.

He imagines Loki reading about him just before bed, and wonders if his mother told him stories, cuddled up close to him, and kissed his brow, too.

The tiny little quirk of his lip spreads to his mouth, teeth slightly bring, and he opens his scarlet eyes to meet Thor’s, “I also expected someone larger.”

The laugh he lets out is mostly just a surprised bark of a sound, partly because he hasn’t expected the man to joke with him, and mostly because he isn’t sure whether or not it is, in fact, a _joke_. Loki however, is just kind of smirking at him, mirth in his eyes, and after another moment passes, Thor just bursts out into full laughter, the raven next to him following suit.

He thinks maybe the prince’s laughter is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, and it’s a very strange thought to have. He sounds bright, like the sun, Thor reasons, giggling cheerfully as he hides his face behind his hands.

If not the most beautiful, than definitely the freest, Thor decides – after having watched the man from afar all evening, it is a relief to sit beside him and hear him laugh – if he had it his way, the whole universe would always just be laughing along, and there would be no hardships.

Thor doesn’t believe in those ideals anymore, but it’s nice to dream. And the dream seems so much closer within his reach when even the stoic Jotunheim Prince can be moved to tears with laughter.

For the next few weeks Thor doesn’t see much of the other man except when they sit across from each other for dinner. He has always already eaten breakfast when Thor enters the room, and he hasn’t been outside the palace during the day since he’s arrived.

Frigga tells him about how hard Loki’s physique is suffering from the warmth of Asgard – Jotunheim is a much colder and darker world, and the prince’s body is unaccustomed to being in such a bright light for such a long time with on end. She teaches him in darkened rooms, and has the medics make him potions for his health, and she tells Thor one day, “perhaps tomorrow you can take him riding,” but tomorrow turns out to be another time, instead.

She boasts about Loki with a pride Thor has never heard in her voice, and he feels so much fondness for his mother as she does so. They sit beside one another after dinner and they drink mead as she tells him, “his magic is astonishing, the most marvellous thing I’ve ever seen,” and “so unchecked, magnificent,” and there’s a light in her eyes that he’s never seen there before.

Thor is happy to sit with her all evening and listen to her talk, if only to never see that light extinguished.

In the end, it’s well into the third week of Loki’s stay by the time Thor finally gets to see him outside of the castle.

They’re out on the grounds, training with a group of Odin’s warriors when Thor first notices his mother. He’s just sparred with Hogun and hasn’t even broken a sweat – he is in need of hydration however, and it is when he goes for a drink of water that he spots her coming down the green hills, along the path that leads to the training fields.

She is wearing a marvellous blue dress today, the silver embroidered in the fabric glittering in the light, and Thor can tell from afar that she is laughing, as the sound seems to carry on the wind to him. She is walking close to Prince Loki, who is wearing a long cloak today, the fur top of it resting on his shoulders and one of his arms tucked inside. It runs down to cover his body and is tied at his hip with a belt, and it is funny how Thor kind of feels himself wishing he could see more of the steel blue skin besides the man’s face and feet.

In his free arm, he is carrying a helmet, similar in shape to the crown he had worn at the welcoming banquet. It is made from a kind of metal however, and the horns on this model are longer, and look a whole lot sharper than the ones on his golden crown had.

“Mother,” he leans over the fence that marks the outline of the arena so he can press a kiss to her cheek, to which she smiles brightly at her son, “Prince, it’s a pleasure seeing you outside.”

Loki grants him with a smile as Frigga opens up the gate to let the man step inside and explains, “I have yet to see Loki’s skill in combat. I would like for you to find him a sparring partner so that I can see him fight,” she smiles at the raven and sets a hand on Thor’s cheek lovingly, as she proudly proclaims: “my son is a brilliant warrior.”

Thor’s cheeks may or may not colour slightly red under the praise, but then Frigga is already nodding to the both of them and retreating to find a place in the shade. For a moment they stand there, and then Loki says, “I’ve read about that in the books too,” indicating the whole of Thor.

He’s stripped off his tunic earlier and has continued training in just his trousers, so he supposes Prince Loki is referring to his strength, as it is impossible to hide the general size of his muscles now that he is so bare. Although the prince’s body is lean and muscular in itself, it is much softer compared to Thor’s, and the blond has no doubt that he could lift the other man easily, his body almost twice the size of the prince’s.

The raven doesn’t elaborate however, and instead turns to where Hogun and Fandral are now talking to the Lady Sif, the three of them enjoying a much needed break.

After greeting them he starts undoing the belt that is keeping up his cloak, slowly but surely revealing his skin to the midday sun.

And there is a lot more of it than Thor seems to remember – underneath the cloak, Loki is wearing just a leather loin piece that covers his buttocks and front, fastened tight with silver chains and revealing his strong thighs. His friends have fallen silent at the sight rather abruptly; Thor can see Hogun gawking at the raven quite ostentatiously, and by the look on Sif’s face, she is strongly doubting the prince’s choice of armour.

The choice being that he is barely wearing any. Besides the grey leather loin cloth, he is covered with metallic shoulder pads that protect his shoulder blades, and small metallic arm pieces covering just his forearms. There are leather belts across his thighs, but instead of offering protection, they seem to be there for attack purposes, as several small blades are carefully stored there.

All his soft parts are out in the open, and Thor finds himself hoping that this is the prince’s idea of a joke, as he is far too bare to spar with any of Asgard’s warriors – he would be slain with a single blow, Thor is sure. Just taking a look at the raven’s body, Thor can make out the unprotected thighs and chest, where a single hit could cost him his life, not to mention that although he is tall, his physique is small compared to the trained warriors of Odin.

“So,” if Loki has caught the blond staring, he doesn’t comment on it, instead setting his helmet atop his dark locks, looking over at Thor impatiently.

Hogun and Fandral exchange a look that Thor pretends not to notice, clearing his throat a little awkwardly. Loki makes quite the sight, but even the helmet – although an equally impressive and terrifying piece, the grey horns jutting out from the raven hair as if they are antlers – does not add any protection to the man, and Thor quite loathes the idea of sending him out to spar knowing he will lose.

“A sparring partner—“ before he can even finish his train of thought, one of the warriors training across the field from them has already stepped forward.

“I’ll spar with the prince, Your Majesty!”

It is Gjurd, the young warrior that had sat beside Loki during the feast, laughing and _staring_. Looking over at Loki, he’s not sure if the man even remembers him, but he does however seem happy to have found an opponent willing to fight him.

Thor has seen the looks Gjurd gives the prince, yet figures this might actually prove to be to his advantage, as he is relatively sure the warrior will not feel inclined to hurt Loki terribly. It seems to be his safest bet, so he nods to the both of them, and then settles against the fence with his friends to watch.

The prince’s fighting stance is nothing like Thor’s ever seen before. Instead of straightening himself and making his body as big as possible, he shrinks down to a squat, keeping his body close to the ground. His hands are posed nowhere near his knives, even though Gjurd is already drawing his sword. Instead he uses them to balance his body, one palm resting on the soil. He is moving his hips slowly, and Thor is vaguely reminded of a Midgardian cat before it is about to pounce.

None of the things he’s ever read about Frost Giants even hinted at such a tactic, and he is quite intrigued to see how this plays out.

Loki makes this _sound_ – baring his teeth, his whole face scrunching up, his eyes narrowing, and he _hisses_ , low in his throat and _fierce_ – and Thor thinks maybe he’s been wrong, because he’s gone completely feral in a matter of seconds, and the sound is ominous enough to make Gjurd look worried.

Gjurd is first to attack, but the smaller man easily dodges the blow, circling him. Gjurd stumbles and then goes for him again – except this time Loki draws one of his knives and slashes him lightly on the arm as he dodges again.

Thor can tell that the move is enraging the warrior, but then he also immediately realises that that is exactly what Loki is going for – so far all he’s done is dodge any attacks, but he hasn’t lost his cool and hasn’t encased a single blow.

They continue like this for a while – Gjurd attacks and Loki dodges, every time managing to draw some blood from the bigger man. There’s a lot of measuring each other up, as Gjurd has never fought someone so small and fast, and although Loki, so Thor supposes, has fought someone as big as Gjurd, he has never fought an Asgardian before. He is always circling with his back bent, arms besides his body as his scarlet eyes seize the other man up.

Gjurd attacks again – Loki goes to dodge but this time the blond expects the move, and though he doesn’t hit him full on, he manages to throw the side of his body into the much smaller one, jabbing into the prince’s ribs with the hilt of his sword. Loki groans as he falls to the floor, but immediately rolls over and gets back up. He bares his teeth again, moves left to right, low on his hunches, and hisses deep, the sound of a cobra before he strikes.

The warrior seems confused that after having landed such a hard blow Loki managed to get back on his feet so easily – when the raven hisses again, the blond visibly flinches and that’s when Loki strikes.

He runs straight ahead at the bigger man and then last minute dives between his legs – it all happens so fast that Thor doesn’t realises he’s drawn his blades again until he’s done a head roll and gotten back up, leaving Gjurd to groan as his knees hit the ground, both of his thighs pearling with crimson blood that stains into his slacks.

Loki doesn’t miss a beat – before Gjurd can even get up off one knee he’s already pounced again, using one of Gjurd’s shoulders as leverage to flip over him and face him, leaping onto his chest with one knife drawn high.

He uses his strong thighs to keep the broader man trapped below him, and lifts the blade above his head, ready to strike him at the jugular – Thor’s holding his breath and he can see the fear in the warrior’s eyes. The blond tries to use his heavier weight to throw the small man off his body but Loki tightens his thighs’ grip on the man and hisses, close to his face – Gjurd goes completely still, fear flooding his face as his body turns into itself, shoulders and legs going rigid.

“Loki!” Frigga’s voice cuts through the tense air like a gust of fresh wind.

Loki’s frame is still for a single second, before relaxing. He drops the hand holding the blade, returning it to its holster against his thigh, before getting up. Gjurd doesn’t move, face still set on terrified until Loki smiles, outstretching his hand.

“Wow,” Gjurd coughs a little awkwardly, allowing the prince to help him to his feet, “don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re _terrifying_.”

The raven grins, patting the dirt off his body, “don’t feel bad, I’ve fought bigger men my whole life.”

Fandral offers the prince some water and Thor can’t stop _staring_. His skin is turning dark blue, bruised where Gjurd stomped his sword into him earlier, but other than that he appears unscathed. He looks much more relaxed than Thor is feeling, brushing his hair from his face as he takes a deep drink of water, not even sweating.

Gjurd, for one, only now seems to realise exactly how many strikes Loki has delivered – it’s not enough to kill him, for now, but if the fight had continued in the same fashion, and Gjurd continued on unaware of his injuries, he would have fainted from blood loss before long.

Thor is impressed that the prince has managed to create any weak spots, despite Asgardian armour having been so carefully designed as to hide them all, and he can’t help but stare, awed.

Frigga is absolutely _beaming_ with pride, and Thor has to smile upon seeing his mother – she appears to be radiating, beckoning Loki so that she can cup his cheek as fondly as she had Thor’s.

“You fought magnificently,” Loki averts his eyes, suddenly shy at the praise, but she brings her hand down to his shoulder and bends forward to whisper something in his ear – he laughs, softly, and when Frigga straightens again she smiles over at her son, “Thor?”

“Oh you were brilliant,” there is no point denying it, and he quite enjoys watching the skin at Loki’s cheekbones shift in colour, “we must celebrate your victory tonight!”

The Warriors Three cheer at the exclamation, Fandral cheerfully slapping at the prince’s shoulders in excitement. Frigga nods her approval, focusing on the bleeding warrior next.

“Gjurd, I recommend you head over to the medical bay,” she speaks kindly, mindful of his injuries and slightly busted ego.

“Prince, perhaps you should come with me,” the warrior points towards where Loki’s ribs are turning a darker shade of blue.

Loki waves the concern away, smiling as he takes off his helmet, “that will heal just fine on its own.”

The warrior leaves with a slightly deflated look and a polite bow to the queen. Hogun admires the work on the prince’s helmet, and Thor wonders if feeling the material of Loki’s shoulder pads would be pushing it.

His mother beats him to it, lightly brushing over it, “we could get you some Asgardian armour, if you’d like?”

The raven turns pensive, carefully studying the armour Hogun is wearing. His brows ruffle, and eventually he shakes his head no, “to be honest, I would not even know how to move in that,” he indicates all of Hogun, and they laugh at the comment.

Frigga doesn’t argue any further, her smile upright as she regards them in quiet. Thor wonders what she thinks while she watches them, a light in her eyes twinkling brightly as she stands beside them.

They continue talking for a little while, discussing battle styles, and Loki’s in particular. He is very tight-lipped on how he developed it, as Thor thinks it very unlikely any of the giant Jotun’s taught him, but it only adds to so much mystery already surrounding the prince. It excites Thor; the man is like a book with hidden pages, and he cannot wait to discover and read them all.

That same evening they take the prince to the tavern, which in itself promises an entertaining night out. They meet at the front of the castle, and Loki comes out just a little after, so they can walk to the tavern together, the six of them.

Loki is wearing a different set of horns now, and his hair is falling down his shoulders freely. The horns are smaller, covered in golden chains but still showing off the ash grey material they are made from. The same material seems to be woven into Loki’s dark slacks from where Thor can see them, a dark cloak hiding most of Loki’s outfit from sight.

They walk in enthusiastic chatter, Volstagg leading them. They end up at their usual table at the biggest tavern in the realm, where joyous singing and excited laughs meet them, the place completely crowded despite the relatively early hour. As usual the atmosphere is amicable, and everyone is rowdy in their merriment.

By the time they’re seated, the owner has already brought them six large ales, and Volstagg is nursing his before Thor can even thank the older man. Loki takes off his travelling cloak and maybe Thor can not breathe for a moment because the raven’s chest is bare but he has silver chains around his neck and fanning down his shoulders, running over his chest and midriff and it looks remarkably beautiful.

Hogun pretends not to be ogling Loki as the prince puts his travelling cloak over the back of the chair and Thor raises his cup and has the rest follow suit in honour of Loki. He takes deep gulps of the drink, watches as the raven sniffs at it a little suspiciously before taking a cautious sip. He seems pleasantly surprised and goes for another drink, licking his lips after, and Thor forces himself to look away.

It isn’t uncomfortable because they’re all just drinking beer. Volstagg boasts about the many adventures they’ve had, keeping Loki’s attention on him as he tells one tale after the other, and they all listen to him joyfully, adding their own details to his stories as he exaggerates or makes himself out to be the hero when, “ _actually_ it was the Lady Sif that slayed that bore,” and “ _actually_ Hogun delivered that blow to Thermal Man,” and Loki listens with crimson eyes gone wide, hanging on their every word.

Thor imagines what Loki must have looked like when he was a small child, little fists grabbing at his blankets in excitement as he listens to his mother tell him stories of Asgard and Odin, and a boy, very close of age, who follows his father’s wise ruling and is growing up to be King one day. He wonders if Loki’s eyes had gone wide in wonderment then, too, as he regarded his mother in amazement, enraptured with her voice as she talks.

They lose Volstagg somewhere after their seventh pint, when he’s gone to get them refills and then just never comes back. Thor notices without really noticing – because Asgardian ale is much stronger than Midgardian, and unfortunately he’s gotten a little too used to the light beer of Earth – but he _does_ notice with a very strange feeling in his stomach that Gjurd is coming over with two pints and eyes set on Loki.

He’s not sure what exactly the feeling is but it’s not _happy_ or _excited_ or _battle_ and that’s just _weird_. Perhaps he should consult doctor Banner about it.

Gjurd is ever polite, nodding at Thor before sitting down besides Loki on the chair Volstagg has left behind empty.

“Prince Loki,” he hands the second ale to the raven, smiling broadly as he makes their glasses meet in a toast, clinking them together, “to your victory!”

There’s a smile playing in the corner of the prince’s lips, barely there, but he sounds obviously pleased as he drawls, “I’m sorry, I got a little carried away,” referring to the fact that he had stabbed the warrior, numerous times.

Gjurd throws his head back in laughter and they drink from their cups. The Lady Sif is staring very oddly at Thor again, a common occurrence lately, except that he’s not sure why.

If looks could kill, Hogun would have obliterated Gjurd with his eyes approximately thirteen hundred and seventy eight times by now. Fandral is snoring, head resting on his arms.

Then, quite suddenly, Gjurd covers the prince’s hand – resting besides his beer on the table – with his own. There is a long moment of silence wherein Gjurd continues to smile at Loki, and Loki continues to stare back, gaze unwavering, as the other three awake people at the table try not to act awkwardly at the courtship taking place right in front of them.

Thor tells himself the prince is allowed courting whomever he pleases, even if he himself would never go for someone like _Gjurd_. Muscular, tall, blond? Not his type, surely, he thinks, ignoring the fact that the boy serving their beers weeks ago had been strangely similar in appearance, and would have ended up gracing his bed, if he hadn’t run into a certain raven.

“What is your hand doing?” Sif bites her lip at the bluntness of the comment, hiding her face behind her hands in second-hand embarrassment – Loki looks confused however, gaze drifting from Gjurd’s reddening face to where Sif is hiding her own.

“Oh,” Gjurd blushes a shade of red Thor has very rarely seen on a warrior, so he notices with glee, “I thought you—“

He goes to pull his hand away again, but Loki snaps, “I don’t recall telling you to stop,” to which Gjurd continues to look even more confused.

“Oh, okay,” Gjurd says, and, seemingly mustering up all the bravery he had that afternoon on the battle field, he tips forward to press a kiss to the prince’s lips – Thor is pretty sure there’s something inside of him _screaming_ but for some reason he can only stare in supreme horror as Hogun makes a distinctive spluttering sound in the back of his throat and Loki dodges the kiss quite expertly.

“Are you drunk? I’ve heard kisses are only shared between lovers,” the prince sounds very matter-of-factly as he continues to frown down his nose at the warrior.

Gjurd’s ears go red and without another word he kind of scrambles off his chair, bumping it over in his hurry to get as far away from their table as he can. It seems he left his bravery behind on the battle field.

Sif doesn’t wait until he’s disappeared completely before bursting out into laughter, her voice ringing with mirth. Thor feels as if his stomach has just been on a rollercoaster, and it is altogether not the worst feeling, but definitely not the best, either.

Loki’s crimson eyes flit to his companions, and his frown deepens in confusion.

“I suppose that wasn’t in your book?” Thor asks, tone playful, “he was _flirting_.”

Sif wheezes. Loki looks taken aback, before retorting, “ _that_ was flirting? I thought Asgardians were supposed to be good at it!” to which Hogun and Thor promptly join her in laughter, Loki following soon after.

He’s not sure when exactly the others leave, but somehow he ends up in the tavern with just Loki, the other patrons still bustling around them, but their table having gone a little quiet. Loki’s eyes have been closed for a while now, and he sits close to Thor, his body swaying slightly as if he is about to doze off.

His hands are on the table – slender wrists, palm slightly lighter blue, fingers long and nails still pitch black. Thor remembers touching him and it feeling like electricity except _not_ and he’s kind of intrigued to know whether Gjurd had felt it too.

Before he realises what he’s doing, he’s reaching out for Loki’s hands, taking them very carefully into his own. They’re cooler than Thor’s used too, but there’s this little tingly feeling that he gets in his fingers and it’s fascinating. The blue skin is extremely soft to the touch, and Thor finds himself wondering if this is because Loki is not a warrior, or if all Jotuns just feel this way. It’s a thought that makes him blush for some reason, and then he realises that Loki has opened his eyes again, and is now watching him, watching Loki’s hands.

He just grins a little awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders.

“That feels very nice,” the prince says, and for a moment Thor isn’t sure whether he heard him correctly – however, that would explain why he had not objected to Gjurd holding his hands earlier, “are all Asgardians so physically affectionate?”

If anyone else had asked him the same question he would have been sure they were pulling his leg – with Loki however he is relatively sure he’s not joking, as he knows for a fact that Jotunheim isn’t known for its affectionate nature.

He laughs though, because it’s still a funny thing to be asked, “I suppose we are,” he admits, perhaps a little bit of an embellishment there, but not a full-out lie.

Loki smiles over at him fondly, before closing his eyes again. He lets Thor turn his hands around, drawing his big thumbs over the sensitive palm, and then makes a little sound in the back of his throat.

“Does it hurt?” Thor wonders aloud, trying to make his touch as gentle as possible.

“I’m not used to using my hands for magic,” Loki hums, “that feels good.”

Thor takes that as an invitation to continue caressing the soft palms, feeling the touch setting his fingertips alight. It’s as if he’s glowing, where they’re touching, and it’s hypnotising. He draws the tip of his finger over the delicate lines of Loki’s palms, then settles for holding them lightly, feeling the weight of them in his own hands.

It’s not a feeling he is used to, but he thinks he’s already addicted.

It isn’t until another week later that he is allowed to take Loki riding. Frigga is very diligent with her lessons and she wants to make sure the prince doesn’t show any signs of dehydration or maladies from his prolonged exposure to the sun before allowing him to leave from the castle grounds during the day.

Thor wakes up that morning and he feels that it is going to be a good day. In all honesty, he’s felt that way almost every single day of his life, but today he is just so _sure_ about it. He has a spring in his step as he heads over to breakfast, and when his mother tells him the good news, he finds himself grinning all through the exchange. Frigga too, is smiling, and they enjoy breakfast side by side on the patio today, her hand warm where she rests it on his arm as she tells him of the progress the prince has been making. He has been wanting to take Loki out to meet his horses for weeks now – although none he breeds are as fast as his father’s Sleipnir, he is very proud of how strong and majestic they are.

He is determined to make today the best day, if it’s the last thing he does.

He spends his morning out training and working up a sweat so that he won’t feel guilty about skipping afternoon duties. He feels as if his friends are stronger today, too, more resistant than he’s ever felt as he spars with them, and their movements are sharper, their minds clearer.

The Lady Sif remarks the same thing of him, but he is sure that she is just trying to be kind. He works hard, but he knows there is always room for improvement.

After lunch he tells the stable boy to prepare the horses and then heads over to the prince’s chambers to pick him up. He hasn’t seen Loki all day and feels irrationally excited about it now – it’s a strange feeling, but lately it’s as if a day is not completely fulfilled if he hasn’t laid eyes on the raven at least once.

Today Loki is wearing simple black trousers and a fur cape around his neck. Thor can see the silver chains wrapped around his waist from beneath the soft fabric of his train and it’s kind of blinding, but it’s impossible to look away. Similar chains are wrapped around his horns, today shorter and stubbier and jutting out from between his deep raven locks, flowing gently down his shoulders, and around his slender wrists.

He’s greeted with a smile and as if automatically his hands find Loki’s, cupping his palms gently. Thor is mystified, the small touch tingling through his entire body and he has to _beam_ because Loki is smiling so gently at the move that it doesn’t really matter that his skin is prickling with electricity, all that matters is that the raven is looking at him like _that_.

“So,” Loki stretches his fingers in Thor’s large hands experimentally, as if trying to measure how much of their skin can touch, “where are we going?”

“We’re going riding!” Thor can’t help the smile taking over his face, all his teeth showing, “I’ve been wanting to take you for weeks.”

The raven doesn’t reply, simply nods his head and lets the taller man lead the way. The cool hands slide from his grip and he tries not to notice how empty his wrists feel without Loki’s fingertips pressed into them.

They walk out down to the stables where the horses are waiting – he’s chosen a black mare, Léttfeti, one of his most loved horses, for Loki, as she is very gentle and listens to his commands perfectly. To make the Prince feel more comfortable he’s even had a head-gear designed for her that resembles Loki’s own – proud black horns jutting out from behind her ears.

As he walks up to gently run his fingers through her mains however, he realises Loki has stilled, crimson eyes staring at the horses in wide-eyed confusion.

“What are _those_?” Loki doesn’t take his eyes off the animals as he takes a resolute step back, cloak swishing gracefully around his body.

“These are our horses,” there’s a note of pride in Thor’s voice that feels a little bit misplaced – sure, he believes his horses to be the best in all the realm, bread to be strong and obedient and gentle with their rider, but Loki isn’t looking very impressed at all.

“I’m sorry our _what_?” Loki is sounding more frazzled with the second, and dread is settling into Thor’s stomach at the realisation that he hadn’t bothered to check whether or not Jotunheim even _has_ horses – he has naturally assumed that Loki would be as skilled a rider as he is a fighter, and that they could partake in Thor’s favourite pastime with smiles on their faces and a shared love for horses in their hearts.

He’s suddenly not so very sure if today is even going to be a _good_ day. As the images of riding off into the sunset with Loki and taking him to the hidden waterfalls and the green fields disappear like ice before the sun he wonders if today is going to be the first catastrophic day he’s had in centuries.

“I invited you to go horseback riding,” he sounds oddly deflated, even to his own ears, and tries to puff out his chest a little, to gain back some of the confidence he’s lost.

“I didn’t imagine _riding_ involved…” Loki hesitates, never taking his eyes off the two horses, patiently waiting to be mounted, “ _what_ are we doing with these animals?”

The way he says it suggests something very vulgar and strange, so Thor kind of barks out a surprised laugh. So perhaps they aren’t going to be riding off into any sunsets soon, but at least they aren’t doing whatever Loki imagines they are going to be doing either.

His own steed Gyllir makes a happy neighing sound as he recognises the laughter of his master, and then suddenly everything goes a little fast – Loki jumps in surprise at the sound, and gets into his battle position just as quickly, hissing deep in his throat. Gyllir responds with stomping his hoofs and neighing again, and luckily, before Loki can respond, Thor bristles, “okay, _no_ , we’re not doing _that_!” and then pulls the prince a little further away from the horses.

He realises too late that they’re quite close now, Loki’s smaller body pressed into his own as the Jotun continues to keep a cautious eye on the horses, his wrists trapped in Thor’s strong hold.

“Loki,” his voice is remarkably clear for how gooey his insides feel – all the places where Loki is touching are alight now, scalding him even through the material of his armour, leaving a burning in his chest and he wants to look at the Prince but he is so _bright_ , “I’ll teach you.”

Loki looks up at him in surprise, and for a moment Thor forgets what breath is – he’d forgotten how the light flickers in the crimson of his eyes and then he thinks maybe he’s never even realised before now, with his skin scalding and their eyes meeting.

The prince looks away to regard the horses again, slightly relaxing in Thor’s hold. He can see the emotion flit over the raven’s face, an otherwise very rare sight, as he considers Thor’s invitation. Looking from Léttfeti to Gyllir, he frowns, seemingly only now realising their differences.

“What is it wearing?” Loki wonders aloud, voice very gentle in comparison to how low and threatening it had been before.

“That’s yours,” Thor feels heat coming up his cheeks but resigns himself to it – with his whole body alight, a little more burning won’t do any damage, “she’s my sweetest mare, bred from my father’s Sleipnir.”

Loki stares up at him as if it’s the first time he really notices him. He seems unaware of their proximity or how Thor’s skin is heating up beneath his armour, and instead just tries measuring him up with a simple look, one eyebrow arched.

“Okay,” he says, and they’re so close Thor thinks maybe he can feel the tuft of breath against his neck, “you can teach me.”

So he does.

He starts with letting Loki get used to the sight of them, as it is becoming increasingly obvious that Loki isn’t very comfortable being in their proximity. They stand there just looking, and Loki carefully studies the way the horses stomp their hoofs, graze in the grass and snuffle around the ground curiously.

When Thor reckons he’s given the raven enough time to assess the animals and has deemed them harmless enough, he gently guides the slimmer man forward, encouraging him to step closer. Léttfeti neighs again, surprising the prince who stammers back – he bumps into Thor’s chest rather clumsily, an endearing sight from someone who usually moves as gracefully as Loki does.

“It’s okay,” Thor hums low in his throat, Loki looking up at him with narrowed crimson eyes, “here,” he gently takes one of Loki’s hands in his own and brings it up slowly, reaching out to the side of Léttfeti’s face.

Loki leans back into Thor’s chest as if almost by accident, but he says nothing as he allows the bigger man to reach for the horse’s manes. They pet down the side together and Thor feels Loki’s fingers tense under his own, but the prince doesn’t pull back, despite how foreign the sensation must be to him.

Thor is pretty impressed with how well Loki is keeping up, his body tense but his eyes set on determination, willing himself to relax. Surprisingly, Léttfeti responds really well to his touch, staying calm even as they move to brush down her flank. She must be able to sense the prince’s nerves, but she behaves ever patiently, allow them to pet her gently.

They spend most of the afternoon getting Loki acquainted with Léttfeti and Thor shows him all the snacks she likes and how they feed her and how they get her ready for riding. He explains how less experienced riders will use a bridle, but Loki seems to loathe the idea of putting any such thing on the beautiful creature, frowning at Thor for even daring to make the suggestion.

He watches them walk around the pen side by side as Loki gets used to how she moves and turns. The Prince is smiling the whole time, in awe as he follows her every move, speaking sweet words of encouragement, and it’s such a beautiful sight, it’s more blinding than the midday sun.

Mounting turns out to be no problem whatsoever, as Loki is used to fighting much bigger enemies and using their size to his own advantage. He uses her manes to lift himself, swings one leg easily to get onto her back. Thor has wrongly assumed he would be uncomfortable – as young riders are often scared or just unused to the sensation – because Loki looks absolutely natural, comfortable in his position as Léttfeti’s rider.

He lets Loki take a cautious ride around the pen and then shows him how to brush the horse down and check for any injuries before putting her back in the stable. As they close up the door and Loki gives Léttfeti a last pet, Thor smiles, teasing, “so nothing in the stories about horses, huh?”

The corner of Loki’s mouth quirks up in a grin, “actually,” his tone is playful, body turning to face Thor fully, “I was told your father rode to Jotunheim on an eight-legged monster.”

“No!” Thor feels his mouth drop in amazement, if only because he’s never heard such a vicious thing being said about the Allfather’s trusted companion – although, admitted, he can see how Sleipnir is probably not as loved by his father’s enemies, “I played with him when I was just a child! Do you want to meet him?”

Thor has nothing but the fondest memories of Sleipnir – it was the first horse he ever rode, exhilarated as he sat behind his father on his glorious steed – he had never felt afraid to go near animals ever again, since riding him. After all, so his father told him as he helped him off the mighty creature, none would ever be as tall or strong as Sleipnir, and now that he had rode him, there was surely no need to fear any other animal.

Loki looks at him with an unreadable expression – Thor wonders if maybe he has sounded too excited, or if perhaps Loki doesn’t believe in the existence of this mythical being at all – but then, brow stern, he gives a clear nod.

A grin takes over Thor’s face and then before he can stop himself he is pulling Loki over towards his father’s stables.

Sleipnir is _gigantic_ , even for someone as tall as Thor – or perhaps his opinion on the matter is slightly biased – but Loki steps into the stable with a carrot in his hand and not even a shred of fear on his face. Thor hangs behind as he watches the Jotun interact – regarding its strong hind legs, all four of them, trailing a hand over its golden flank and then offering up the carrot to the animal. Loki’s fingers play through Sleipnir’s manes as the carrot gets taken in one swift bite, his eyes slightly widening at the sight of the teeth, the size of tea cups.

“He’s formidable,” the raven concedes, patting Sleipnir’s strong flank in recognition. He turns to Thor, eyes remarkably bright as he says sternly, “Thor, take me riding.”

Thor wants to say no, because Loki’s only just mounted Léttfeti for the first time and taking her for a ride so soon is just not _sensible_ – but then there’s this little piece inside of Thor which his mother lovingly refers to as the part that hasn’t fully grown yet, that is shouting _yes yes yes_ and it’s just very hard to ignore with how passionately it’s waving its hands and cheering.

Instead of trying to pretend he would rather do anything else when in fact he’s been dreaming of this day for weeks now, he takes Loki back to Léttfeti’s stable. The sun is setting now, the evening warm and the light soft, so Loki takes off his outer cloak before mounting her, revealing his steel blue skin to the air. His silver chains are wrapped snugly around his waist and loose up his chest and then snug around his neck again and Thor wants to avert his eyes because it feels _private_ , the silver of the chains biting into the tender skin at his hips, but then it’s also really difficult to turn away from the sight.

Loki solves the issue quite simply by guiding Léttfeti past Thor and out of the stables, so that the blond can do nothing but mount his own steed to follow in the prince’s stead.

There’s a very tiny sensible side of him that is pointing out how dangerous this is, but then he’s just not very accustomed to listening to that voice, either, so instead he throws caution in the wind and his leg over his horse and follows Loki before he can get very far.

It’s kind of like a dream, maybe. Loki’s riding is like a dream, too, an absolute natural at how he guides Léttfeti and lets her choose her own pace. His hands are on her neck and they seem completely attuned to each other, something that takes even the most skilled riders ages to achieve.

Loki always seems to be teasing him and testing him. Although the prince has no idea where they’re going, he is always trying to surpass Thor, his smile so wide it’s taken over half his face. Thor enjoys it immensely, falling back just so he can watch the raven hair flow in the wind as he passes by, only to then catch up with the prince once more. It’s worth it just to see that smile.

They ride down to the edge of the palace and then into the forest, following its winding path through the trees and bushes. Loki doesn’t let up, urges Léttfeti to go faster and then as they burst past the line of trees and break free from the forest, tumbling into the sunflower fields Thor used to hide in as a kid, the prince slows down abruptly, Léttfeti coming to a stop.

It’s a sight he will never forget, not for a thousand years, he’s sure of it.

Loki’s silhouette painted against the setting sun, nothing but sunflowers with their petals golden in the light, as far as the eye can see. Raven locks dancing in the breeze and crimson eyes taking in the sight with an expression of awe on the handsome face, his lips turned up into a gentle smile. The chains around his chests flicker in the light, like diamonds on his skin, and Thor is going blind, the picture is too perfect, outshining even the sun, and he can’t look away.

Gyllir trots over until right besides Léttfeti, catching the Prince’s attention. When Loki looks over he is still smiling, his eyes brighter than Thor has ever seen them, and he promptly holds out his hands for Thor to take.

His lips open in a gasp as he breathes out, “it’s breath-taking,” the fondness so thick in his voice Thor thinks he might cry happy tears.

Loki’s hands are cool, making his own tingling again. Thor cups them and feels their soft palms underneath his fingertips. He rubs his thumbs in circles over the tender knuckles, watches as the prince closes his eyes in delight.

“Do you have places like this at home?” Thor asks quietly, unwilling to break this serene moment with loud chatter.

Loki’s smile turns rather bitter, and Thor almost wishes he hadn’t spoken, “home? I feel more at home riding Léttfeti than I have anywhere else.”

Thor doesn’t think he understands, not completely anyway, because there’s a lot of puzzle pieces still missing, but he’s sure it’s not a lie. With Loki’s hands in his own, he feels determined to unravel all his mysteries.

For the next couple of weeks they make it a point to practice Loki’s riding at least thrice a week, which means that Thor is thankfully seeing a lot more of him. He can spot Loki training outside with his mother sometimes, as Frigga teaches him how to summon his weaponry and how to create knives from thin air, but a lot of the prince’s time is still spent inside. Often Thor will spot him across the hallway as he makes his way to the library with one of the court’s magicians, or other times he will hear Frigga’s voice drifting around the castle as she teaches Loki in her study.

Loki’s magic is improving in vast strides. It feels as if one day Thor’s roaming the castle when he finds a snake and goes to pick it up and play with it only to have it turn into the prince right before his eyes, and the other he is arriving in the pen only to have two identical Gyllirs waiting for him there.

Some evenings when he is drinking with the Warriors Three, he will see Loki at the tavern, laughing with one of the servants, or clinking glasses with one of the warriors and it’s _hard_ because the sight of the prince is always blinding.

He hears his voice too, as if when Loki is laughing somewhere where he isn’t, he can still hear the sound filling the air. Just looking at the man throw back his head, he can immediately hear the beautiful noise in his ear, drumming around in his head even as he settles into bed.

Thor is not an idiot, something he prides himself on, despite the jeers his fellow Avengers give him back on Midgard. He _knows_ what’s happening – he doesn’t need the Lady Sif to give him long stares and shake her head when she thinks he can’t tell, and he _certainly_ doesn’t need the look of fondness that his mother has been casting at him as she watches him teach Loki how to guide Léttfeti properly.

He’s seen the way Steve Rogers looks at his betrothed, he knows the _signs_ , as Clint has walked him through them multiple times. He’s also pretty sure his mother would murder him if he dares do anything to ruin the mood of her precious apprentice in any way.

So maybe he realises that taking advantage of Loki’s ignorance on the subject is probably _wrong_ – he is always seeking out Loki’s hands and that’s not a strictly platonic thing to be doing, really – but then it also doesn’t help that Loki doesn’t seem to realise that he is actually quite the catch.

When Thor suggests that Loki bring a suitor to the court dinner, Loki just shrugs it off, flipping through one of the thick tombs in the library and barely even listening.

“Thor, where would _I_ get a suitor?” he huffs out, exasperated and finger posed on one of the pages so that he doesn’t notice the shadow fall over Thor’s face – _right in front of you_ he wants to yell, but he can’t and he refuses to, too.

“They’ve been lining up for you since your first arrived!” there’s a lot more heat in there than Thor intends there to be, and Loki just frowns at him, completely unimpressed.

“Why are you yelling, are you upset?” and maybe Thor is, but mostly because navigating courtship of a Jotun is just _really_ difficult.

When he’s sure Loki is ready to take longer rides, he decides to invite the prince to join him and his friends on a trip to the stream where Thor washed with his mother as a child.

Loki looks beyond happy at the opportunity to take Léttfeti for a longer ride and show Thor how much he’s improved, so after discussing the matter with Frigga, they leave in the late morning.

Today he is wearing a long black cloak with green buckles, and wearing a leather belt that is holding up his loin cloth with golden charms and trinkets attached to it – Thor has seen him wear similar clothing and though they flicker hypnotising in the light, Léttfeti appears to enjoy the soft tinkling sound the charms produce. There’s soft strips of leather on his knees and down his forearms, and one golden chain that runs around his neck down to his belly, where it parts to cup his hips and run down. His horns are soft golden and nestled in a gathering of sunflowers today, which Thor went to pick with him some days ago.

The sight brings a smile to his face, and then he can’t stop smiling even as the six of them set out for the stream.

Thor enjoys leading the pack with Loki by his side – it’s a special kind of feeling, knowing that Léttfeti in trailing along just a little on his right, listening to the prince’s every command – but he wouldn’t mind having Loki lead, either, to be but a shadow in the blinding light the raven casts. He’s always wanted to be that light – but he thinks that if it were Loki taking lead, he wouldn’t mind defeat so much.

He can hear Loki’s voice as he talks to the Lady Sif, a constant calling out for him even as he jokes with Volstagg – his ears are tuned to the music Loki’s lips create.

They go deeper in the woods than Loki’s ever gone, but he guides Léttfeti over fallen branches and through narrow pathways as if he’s never been doing anything else. Lady Sif tells Loki about the different flowers and plants as they pass by, and Loki sighs about how bright and colourful everything in Asgard is. Thor imagines he fastens his long cloak a little tighter around his body as he says so, a habit the prince had developed despite his skin now being used to the golden light of day.

As they near the stream the plantation becomes more earthy coloured, with flat yellows and dirty whites sticking out in the form of shapely flowers. The ground here is damper and there are more rocks, guiding a path to where Thor knows they will find the river. Hogun makes an excited whooping sound and then he is racing past Thor – he immediately starts the chase as they race to reach the water first, the sound of hooves galloping on the stony wet earth thundering in his ears.

The horses stop abruptly as they reach the water front and the change in momentum from fast to stock-still unseats them both, getting thrown off their steeds and into the water. Hogun comes up gasping for air, but the soothing coolness of the water and the abruptness of it all has Thor laughing as his head breaches the surface. His armour and clothes are weighing him down but seeing the surprised look on Hogun’s face and hearing Loki’s laughter fill the air is enough to have him laughing along, his other friends following soon after.

He unbuckles his cape first, and then throws off the heavy armour onto the river side. Hogun crawls back out of the water on hands and knees with disgusting sloshing sounds, his tunic sopped. Before Thor can get out and hang his cape to dry, it has already lifted itself off the forest floor, floating over to where Gyllir has started eating grass. It lands perfectly on his hind to dry, the horse undisturbed.

Loki is chuckling as he gets off Léttfeti and Thor realises he’s been staring at his cloak as if it had grown a head – not that flying is much better – and then he has to laugh too, because a display of Loki’s magic is so rare and always a nice surprise.

Hogun sloppily drapes his tunic over his horse before stripping off his tights and undergarments, Volstagg and Fandral already undressed and getting in the water impatiently. The lady Sif rolls her eyes at the two men teasing each other in the water, but she swiftly follows suit, beginning to undo her own long cape.

“Oh,” Thor hears the sound although it’s almost drowned out by the sound of his friends splashing around in the stream.

When he turns around, Sif has taken off her breastplates and stripped down her white tunic, revealing her toned body and bosom – the prince, who is standing beside her, has discretely averted his eyes, fixed firmly on the floor now.

Thor realises immediately what the look of embarrassment means, so he waits until Lady Sif has stripped down her tunic and undergarments and joined the Warriors Three before he approaches Loki, eyes cautiously moving away from the ground.

“Have you never gone swimming with your mother before?” Thor is quite sure his own would be _appalled_ if he just went right out and teased, _“first naked breasts?”_ and then also he just doesn’t really want to know if Loki has or has not been with anyone _like that_ or maybe he does want to know but he is also quite sure it is safest for his own sanity if he doesn’t think about that.

Professor Banner would probably laugh, _what sanity_? But then he also reasons the professor is not exactly the relationship expert. Actually, now that he thinks about it, none of his friends, Midgardian or otherwise, are.

“Why would I go swimming with my mother?” Loki’s tone of voice implies that Thor has asked something ridiculous, while it is the prince who is being ridiculous now.

Thor shrugs his shoulders, bending down to unbuckle his boots as he explains, “I go swimming with my mother all the time. We used to come here when I was little, washed each other’s backs.”

To his surprise Loki is smiling down at him fondly, even as he says, “I can’t imagine you were ever little,” to which Thor can only laugh.

He takes his time undoing his shoes but only because Loki is taking off his cloak with the most delicate of movements, hands drifting down to tug at his leather belt while he hums a tune in the back of his throat. The trinkets create a song of their own as he removes the cloth, singing as they clink together and Thor forces himself to look away.

As he focusses on his own boots he can see the prince toe out of his sandals from the corner of his eye, the soft padding of his knees and forearms being put down beside them next. He has to close his eyes when the man passes by just because he _does not trust himself_ – a rather pathetic love fool he has become now – and then he kind of pulls off his boot with too much strength, catapulting it into the forest.

He ignores his own foolishness and shrugs out of his tights, before turning to join his friends – and then promptly blushing, mortified. Loki is still on his way to the water, distracted by his long hair that his fingers are braiding now. His skin looks aglow in the midday sun, glittering blue-silver and the gold of his chain sparkling – Thor’s eyes follow it where it runs down his back and parts to move to the delicate hips, where it runs down the strong buttocks and then cups the man’s thighs.

Thor tells himself he doesn’t stare – but he does, a little, at least until Loki has disappeared into the water – but he does make it a point to slap his own forehead as he goes to look for his boot.

The afternoon is warm and lazy, and they spend it splashing around, trying to catch fish with their bare hands – something Loki is particularly good at – and wrestling where the water is shallow. Loki shows Sif how to braid her own hair and Fandral shows Hogun a new move he’s picked up recently.

Thor is drifting off, wondering how his friends back in Midgard are doing, when he suddenly hears the hum of the Prince’s voice in his eardrums. He watches as Loki sits by the side of the water, fingers in Sif’s hair as he decorates her braids, soft voice murmuring a beautiful tune.

Even just the humming, to Thor’s ears, sounds more beautiful than any sappy Midgardian love song he’s ever heard – despite the fact that he is actually quite fond of sappy Midgardian love songs. The chain around his neck makes soft clinking sounds as he moves to take some of the flowers he’s plucked, and the melody mixes with his voice, sweet like sugar.

Thor wonders if maybe Loki’s voice is magic, as the sound of it makes Thor feel absolutely bewitched.

It’s early in the evening by the time they head back, the air hot and humid after the long warm day. Loki has taken out his braid to dry his hair and he seems lazy as they return, always allowing Léttfeti to hang back a little behind, singing to her softly under his breath.

They’re all timid now, content after a long day of messing around, and Thor lets Hogun lead the pack as he falls back, Gyllir seemingly dismayed at their slowed pace. When he comes up next to Léttfeti however, he makes a pleased neighing sound and Thor wants to roll his eyes because _of course_ Gyllir likes Léttfeti, _now_ , ever since Loki started riding her.

Thor thinks maybe Loki is singing to her in Jotun and it’s such a pretty sound except that the prince _stops_ – looking up at the man riding besides him. There’s a gentle breeze and it moves Loki’s hair, the sunflowers still proud between his horns, and then it rustles the trees too, and Loki’s eyes go to where the leaves make a sound, before finding Thor’s.

Crimson swirling light, and maybe he’s lost now, because he finds that he cannot draw his gaze away.

“There’s almost no Jotun women,” the prince says it like it’s a secret, voice soft as the wind carries it. His eyes avert, downcast, “they live in private chambers and are not allowed to leave. I’ve never met my mother.”

So perhaps it _is_ a secret, and one that Loki is not particularly proud to share. As if there are bits and pieces of his own culture that he’s come to misunderstand, questions he had as a young boy still clear in the way he speaks, and those are, understandably, not the impressions you want to leave on other people. Thor thinks he gets it, or at least mostly, because he hates misunderstandings people harbour about his father, even though he knows the man rules with an iron fist.

“I’m so glad you told me,” he says it and he means it, too, more than his tone probably implies.

He wonders if maybe if the Captain was here he would know what to say – probably more so than Thor himself, at least – but then to be honest, with the way Loki is looking at him, he thinks maybe he hasn’t done so bad.

All the way back to the palace he can’t stop thinking about how Loki _hasn’t ever met his mother_ and he feels _appalled_. There’s not a single small space in his mind where there’s room for the thought of what life would be like without his mother – just the mere idea of it makes his heart thump painfully in his chest. Without his mother he would never have even _met_ Loki.

That put aside he’s not sure he’d ever have dreams without his mother, his evenings filled with her story telling, warm afternoons of braiding her hair by the stream as her voice sings him songs of warriors.

He’s been thinking a lot about little Loki, excited by his mother’s side as she tells him his bedtime stories, and he feels oddly disheartened at the newfound knowledge that there is no such memory in existence. Loki’s never had his mother besides him, pointing at the pictures in his book, and that’s probably one of the most devastating things Thor’s heard in a long time.

The next couple of days he spends a lot of time thinking about it, running his fingers over the books his mother used to read to him. He sees Loki in the hallways on his way to his lessons and their eyes are always meeting, an intensity in the red orbs that won’t let him go.

In the evenings he lies awake in bed, imagining how lonely growing up must have been for the prince without his mother, without any tales to keep him company, and he can’t sleep, the thought keeping him awake.

One night after he’s changed into his smallclothes before bed he sees his favourite story book lying on his dresser and makes a split second decision. Even though Loki can not have his mother read to him, there’s no reason that he should miss out on all the exciting stories in those books.

He changes into comfortable trousers and then decides to take the book over to the prince’s sleeping chambers. He doesn’t second guess himself, because that’s just not something he generally does, and he thinks maybe Stark would have one or two things to say about that, but then he also knows his pragmatic nature has brought him pretty far.

When the prince opens the door to his bedchambers he’s wearing nothing but a long black satin robe, decorated with green peacock feathers. His dark locks frame his face quite beautifully, and when his eyes meet Thor’s in surprise he thinks maybe he’ll drown there, in the pools of swirling red.

He can’t look away and he _wants to_ because a lot of Loki’s pale blue thighs are showing and he is quite fond of them, but then he just thinks maybe he’s destined to live in this moment, trapped in the gleaming orbs.

“Thor?” Loki’s voice is soft, as if scared he may disturb the guards down the hall, and he breaks their eye contact in favour of looking past the taller blond to check if said guards are still in place.

Thor knows what he wants to say, but he finds that he can’t explain properly now that he is actually face to face with the raven – he’s only ever seen Loki like this the very first time, when he’d stumbled around the castle with a tavern boy and bumped into the prince – the man’s very presence distracting.

He shows him the picture book and tells him how much he loved to hear the stories from his mother when he was a child. He doesn’t tell Loki how heartbroken he feels that the prince has never had anyone read to him, and instead bares his canines as he suggests that Loki may like the book, too.

Loki looks at him rather pensively, simply regarding him for a moment. It’s a scrutiny Thor is not altogether used to, but he would be lying if he said the attention is unwelcome.

“Okay, sure,” Loki decides eventually, stepping back as if to invite Thor into his room – which Thor is pretty sure he is misunderstanding, “you can read to me.”

That too, _must_ be a misunderstanding. But as Loki stands there, looking at him expectantly, he understands that it is not Thor who has misunderstood, but the prince. Belatedly he realises that as he was raving on about his mother’s storytelling, it must have sounded as if he wanted to read to the prince, like he had been read to, before.

Thor doesn’t usually blush, but he thinks he can feel a heat rise to his chest as he steps into the raven’s room, hoping he is hiding his bafflement well.

Loki is staying in the largest guest chambers the castle has, and though Thor has visited them many times before, they look a lot different then he remembers them to. The prince has stacked the room with flowers and plants, and there’s soft drapes hiding the woodworked furniture, creating a softer and more personal look. There’s furs on the stone floors and Loki’s horns and crowns are standing proudly atop his dresser – there’s the one with the sunflowers, and the helmet one with the long strong horns, but also a smaller delicate golden one, and an intricate silver one with beads and chains.

The prince is still looking at him rather expectantly, hands folded behind his back, and Thor has to clear his throat as he realises he’s been caught staring, a rather rude thing to do. Loki just smiles, however, urging gently, “so? How did your mother read to you?”

His tone is inquisitive, and Thor imagines perhaps this is what Loki is like with Frigga, as well. Eyes a fraction wider than they usually are, expression serious and voice prodding, eager to learn more. Perhaps Loki thinks of this as just another lesson in Asgardian culture, and then who would Thor be to deny him? If he plays his cards right, he might even receive his mother’s praise for the whole ordeal, and that would just be the cherry on top for him.

He pretends to feel no elation at all as he indicates the bed, watching carefully as Loki folds back the furs and then gets comfortable beneath the linens. His eyes are still on Thor, impatient as he hums when his head hit the pillow. Thor can’t help but grin at the sound – perhaps he’ll never know what Loki looked like as a child, but now, watching the prince hiding under his blankets, tucked in tight until just below his chin, he feels a fondness he cannot explain.

Thor sits himself on the other side of the bed, getting comfortable atop the furs so he can still see Loki’s eyes, boring into him – the only part visible of the prince now is his lovely face, skin warm in the light of the flickering candles and his eyes dark – picking up the book.

He’s never been the one to read aloud before – he has no younger siblings or close relatives to whom he reads, and the closest thing he’s ever come to telling a bedtime story was that time young Parker got the flue and was sick in bed, so that the Avengers would all come and entertain him when he became restless. Thor had told him stories of Asgard and he had stared in amazement, nose red and eyes puffy, but full of excitement.

It’s a lot like that, now, Thor musses, because Loki has that exact same look on his face; but also, _nothing_ like that, because he is acutely aware of where the prince’s body is hiding under the covers, how close his hand is to Thor’s thigh.

He tells the story of Tyr and the wolf, Fenrir, which was one of his favourite stories as a child. He uses his hands to make shadow puppets on the bedroom wall depicting Fenrir’s gigantic muzzle and shows Loki the picture of him in the book excitedly – even years later he is sure he could draw the wolf by heart, the dark lines of fur and claws the size of the Allfather’s face etched in Thor’s memory from having stared at the pages for hours as a kid.

With how eagerly Loki is staring up at the pictures, he allows himself to get a little lost, telling the story and giving some characters high-pitched girly voices, while he uses the best roaring tone he can to depict his father. Loki lies besides him, turned onto his belly as he giggles at the different voices, trying to see the pictures in the book before Thor is ready to show them. He keeps on trying to look over the edge of the pages, smirking when Thor tells him off and making the pages dance with his magic in retaliation.

They’re only halfway through the story when Thor takes a break in his reading. Loki rests his chin on one hand, beaming as he looks up at him, “how do you even sleep after these? It’s too exciting!”

Thor lets out a booming laugh, not completely sure if the prince is joking or not. From the look in the man’s eyes however, he can tell he is serious, his canines showing as he smiles.

“I had my own adventures to look forward to, waiting in my dreams,” Thor replies with a grin.

For some reason the smile on Loki’s face dies down a little, replaced with something a lot more tender. His eyes soften and he sighs into the space between them, his hand momentarily reaching out as if to pet Thor’s face, before he reconsiders.

“So even in your dreams you are a hero,” there’s no mockery in his tone and Thor isn’t sure but it feels like this is important, so he doesn’t laugh, either.

Their eyes meet and Thor dives in head first, because he _is_ a hero, and there is nothing that he fears.

After that he tries to read to Loki at least twice a week, and he still takes the prince riding as well, and some evenings they even go to the tavern together. However, he prefers the privacy of their reading or riding sessions vastly over the latter, as it seems that there is always _someone_ at the establishment that wishes to have Loki’s attention, and the prince is generally far too polite to refuse.

The weeks go by and he visits Heimdall regularly to check up on Midgard – all is well, but he misses his friends, and Heimdall assures him they miss him too. To be honest he’s not sure if Heimdall is just trying to appease to his good nature, but then he also can not imagine that his fellow Avengers _don’t_ miss him. He is everyone’s favourite Avenger, after all.

He watches as the bond between Loki and Léttfeti grows, the prince now not even needing to use his voice to spur his steed on – Léttfeti goes where Loki wishes her to, and it is a magnificent sight to see them ride together, always faster, always further.

On days that he doesn’t spend time with Loki he sees his mother and the prince together in hushed whispers on their way to the library, the prince’s head bent down low. He is always wearing his smaller horns these days, with golden chains and golden trinkets and Frigga is always smiling. It becomes increasingly obvious, as months turn into a year, that Loki is not going anywhere – not as long as Frigga has a say in it, her hand on his elbow during their walks, her eyes on Loki as he fights in the training grounds.

She doesn’t tell him with as many words, but then she is his mother, and she doesn’t have to. She drinks spiced tea on the patio and asks Thor to join her, kisses his cheeks warmly and gently. She hands him a dozen children’s books he’s never seen before and says, “I’m sure you will both enjoy these,” and she’s smiling, ever so wickedly.

It’s funny because Loki is not her son, but they have the same mischievous smile and the twinkle in their eye, and it kind of makes Thor’s heart feel like floating; his mother is happy, and what lovingly brought up child does not wish their mother’s happiness?

Loki’s magic improves in stages, but it goes too fast for Thor to even register properly. One day he watches Loki focus intently before his knives go flying, and the other Loki is making leaves dance with his music. They go riding and Loki shows Thor how the Jotun people make music with bells – he has them strapped around his chest and arms and hips and as he dances the bells ring beautifully in different tones and notes and the foliage surrounding them starts moving, enticed by the sound almost as much as Thor is.

He’s pretty sure he could watch this for the rest of his life and never get bored and he can’t stop _laughing_ and laughing and Loki’s laughing too and he’s making flowers dance. Thor is sure that’s what magic really is; laughter filling the air and dancing flowers.

After one of their rides he goes to talk to his father in the man’s study. He’s just watched Loki groom Léttfeti and the amazing serenity the both of them seem to get from it was similar to how he feels taking care of Gyllir and he knows that if Loki were to ever leave, Léttfeti would never obey another master the way she did the prince, ever again. His father commends him on his kindness and offers no rejections, but Thor can feel his eye on him, long after he’s turned to leave the room.

He has one of the workmen replace Léttfeti’s stable door with a new dark green one, the wood lighter in some places. The doors get decorated with moss and ivy and silver chains and Thor single-handedly builds a shelf inside the stable where they can hang the horned piece Léttfeti wears when Loki rides her. He has the finest scribbler decorate the door with a new name tag and curvy letters, and when he is satisfied that Loki will understand without having to explain, he thanks the men for their hard work and sets out to find the prince.

When they return to the stables, Loki mostly looks surprised at first. He notes how lovely the decorations are and questions the occasion, until his eyes glide down the stable door and he stills abruptly as the words sink in.

“Loki’s Léttfeti” the silver letters read now, and Thor’s cheeks are hurting, he’s grinning so hard – Loki looks absolutely star struck, crimson eyes flitting between Thor, to the horse, and back again.

For a moment it looks as if he’s not pleased at all, expression carefully blank – but then he practically _jumps_ into Thor’s arms, throwing his whole body into a hug that sets Thor’s body alight. He’s warm all down his tender frame, arms wrapped around his neck and his beautiful voice singing a litany of “ _thank you_ ”s into Thor’s shoulder.

Thor realises then that he should have done this much sooner. The feeling of Loki’s remarkably warm body pressed into his put aside, it’s also just an overall amazing feeling knowing he’s made someone so happy with just the smallest amount of effort on his side. If only everyone was so easy to please, the world would never be an unhappy place again.

They go for an impromptu ride and Loki is always smiling and looking his way and touching his hand and when their eyes meet he just feels it really deep down and he knows he’s lost. He’s never been afraid of heights, and this is no time to be a coward. So he decides he’ll wager the fall, brave on, and not look back.

The next day he finds his mother while she is watering her wolfsbane and harebell in the gardens after one of her lessons with Loki. She is wearing a different dress than she had at breakfast that morning, a white gown of a thin fabric now, her arms left bare as she works with the flowers in the heat.

She seems to know he is coming before he has announced himself, as she turns to wipe her hands and greet him before he’s even spoken. In the golden light of the midday sun she looks especially glorious, and he feels his love for her as if its been rejuvenated, nothing but warmth as they embrace.

They talk about how much Loki’s magic has grown and how proud Frigga is, her smile radiant as she talks of the Jotun prince. Thor doesn’t understand most of what she says – because there is only ancient magic in him, a force strong, suddenly there with the crackling of the thunder and something deep and feral inside of him that he only controls but does not understand. He loves hearing her stories and seeing his mother’s own magic however – blooms growing soft under her touch, and potions healing all wounds and her smile, so radiant it could force the strongest men to their knees.

What Loki does is perhaps a little more intricate, but therefor none the less beautiful, as he often thinks of the prince creating music with the lull of his voice, his visage as he shifts between man, snake, horse and wolf, the tug of his heart that he feels as Loki’s hips move like water, bells ringing and leaves dancing to welcome his tune.

Frigga braids his hair while she listens to him talk about all the stories they’ve been reading and the places they’ve been to on horseback and he feels like a small child again, talking about his adventures and his friends with his mother’s gentle fingers brushing through his hair. There is no way to describe the happiness he feels now, and at the knowledge that many of his stories are Loki’s stories now, too.

When men will write of his tales, it will be of him as the God of Thunder, but surely not without Loki, God of Mischief by his side. The thought entices him, that maybe one day his Midgardian friends will be telling stories to their children, and as they show them the illustrations in the book, it will be Thor with his mighty hammer and Loki with his bells, sometimes a snake, sometimes a man, but always a trickster, always too fast to grasp.

He tells her how wonderful a place Midgard is, and how rare opportunities like these are. He embellishes, but if he’s being honest, she probably doesn’t need any persuasion. She looks at him, studies his face and brushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear – she’s smiling before he’s finished, and he knows she’s sold on the idea as much as he is.

So he finds himself bringing the joyous news of their travels to the prince. He finds Loki in the library amongst two thick tombs – he is wearing black slacks and an emerald green robe today, as if the weather is colder than he is accustomed to. His horns are smaller today, amidst his long raven locks almost drowning, silver diamonds shining at their base – he is biting his lips as he flips through the books, a frown showing his aggravation and Thor is almost afraid to bother him.

Except that he looks up at the sounds of the library doors and when he spots the blond his look softens, the wrinkles in his forehead melting away and his shoulders unclenching. Loki is up and looking for books on Midgardian culture before Thor has even finished his sentence and then he’s demanding to know when they’re leaving and what clothes he should take – there’s not a single coherent _yes_ that actually leaves his mouth, but Thor is pretty sure he can take the prince’s actions as a resounding answer.

They plan to leave the next morning, and he turns up for breakfast pretty damn excited, expecting to see the prince packed and ready—except that his skin is no longer blue?

Thor has to double back just to make sure he’s seen correctly. The tribal patterns attesting his lineage that usually line the prince’s skin have gone – the silvery glow to the ash blue in the early morning has been replaced with a much paler, cool colour, and Thor finds the sight so utterly confusing that he blurts out, “what’s this?” before he can reconsider.

Of course Loki looks utterly unimpressed, rolling his eyes as if Thor is an idiot – which he’s _sure_ he’s not – doing a little twirl to show off all the bland skin. He’s even wearing an unusual amount of clothes, regular black tights and a black tunic that hides his usually bare chest, a long green travelling cloak covering his no-longer-patterned arms.

Actually the only familiar thing about Loki is his long black hair, no horns, and Thor realises with a sinking feel to his stomach that even the prince’s eyes have changed – _emerald_ now, Thor finds himself thinking in distaste.

“There are no blue-skinned Midgardians,” Loki explains in a tone that implies that he is not patient, whatsoever, and Thor should _know this_ already.

Which he does. He’s just not completely sure he knows how that knowledge leads to this weird-looking version of Loki.

“Yes?”

There's a pink hue that rises to Loki's cheeks which makes Thor think that maybe the situation is not so bad after all. He's never seen the prince go pink, only ever a darker blue, and the colour is rather endearing, stained against his pale cheeks.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest defiantly, as if Thor is making a needless drama of this drastic change, "your friends might think I'm strange."

There's a lot of bite but Thor mostly just registers the insecurity that shines through his voice. It's a rather foreign emotion for the both of them, since Thor has never seen the prince unsure of anything, and he takes it upon himself to never second-guess himself. But Loki blushes a brighter shade and Thor has to smile, which only seems to deepen the pink.

"They've seen stranger things," Thor grins and takes the prince's hands in his own.

He watches as the flush spreads to his ears, before the palms of his hands turn their natural greyish blue hue again. The colour continues from there, his current outfit seemingly melting away into a softer sheer fabric that is draped around his shoulders and chest, revealing inches of blue skin running down to his hips, where stripes of chiffon run down from his loin cloth to cover him properly.

Decked out in golden chains, bracelets running up his arm and nestled at the base of his horns, Loki looks exactly like the confident prince he is – all the way down to the smirk on his face as he realises Thor is staring.

They travel to the Avengers’ compound together, and then promptly almost run into the young Parker who is on his way out. He stops at the sight of Thor however, his face dropping in surprise at the sight of him, and then he kind of jumps up into a semi-awkward hug as Thor bends down to scoop the small human up.

Peter greets Loki with his never-ending enthusiasm, “wow, _you’re blue_ that’s so cool! Mister Thor I have to go! It was so cool meeting you _you look amazing_!” and then he’s already racing away, looking back over his shoulder and waving as he goes.

If Loki finds the encounter even just a little unsettling, he doesn’t mention it, just looks between the small boy’s disappearing frame and Thor with a teasing smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. Thor is pretty sure he wants to make some sort of sassy remark, but instead of indulging himself he smiles as if to encourage Thor.

Loki is dutifully impressed by practically everything in the compound – from Friday greeting them as they enter to the Avengers posters hanging off the walls. Everything is sleek metal and Loki is entranced – Thor watches him slide his fingers down the smooth walls and try to hide a giggle as he points out Thor’s pose in one of their recruitment pictures and Thor feels his heart swell, possibly, with happiness and endearment for this man so far from his own world but completely enchanted by the possibilities of Midgard.

So different from his own first trip here, he is happy to be a part of this moment for Loki, because when the prince turns around and their eyes meet he outstretches his hands to grab Thor’s and there’s so much gratitude and warmth in the motion that Thor is pretty sure he never wants to let go.

He shows Loki around the main level and they end up in the shared kitchen and living room, where Barton and Barnes are messing around, television turned on with a horror movie already playing. They get greeted with cheerful smiles and Barton comes over to pat his shoulder and shake Loki’s hand, Barnes juggling a bowl of unpopped popcorn in his one hand.

“God of Thunder,” the man looks healthier than Thor has seen him, though that would probably be in large part thanks to the Captain’s good care, “just the God we need!”

He shakes the bowl suggestively and Barton goes to open up a window, the both of them exchanging a mischievous smile. Apparently they have been talking with the kind doctor, and Thor can’t help but grin at the thought that they have missed him so much they have been exchanging stories about him.

Loki doesn’t seem entirely surprised that the first time he witnesses Thor’s thunder power on Midgard is when he makes his friends a not-so-healthy snack, but he does laugh along with them, and then cheekily makes the bowl flow out of their reach as they try to grab a handful of the sweetened kernels.

The Captain comes in just as Thor explains to Loki how delicious the Midgardian brew coffee is, and Barton has started to make them a fresh pot. The man’s hair is still longer than when they first met, and his smile as bright as ever – he looks uprightly surprised to see Thor in the Avenger’s kitchen though, and Thor can see the moment he goes from stunned to exhilarated, his hug warm as he pats Thor’s back.

“Captain, this is prince Loki from Jotunheim,” Thor beams as he indicates the raven man, the prince smiling politely as Rogers outstretches his hand, “Loki, this is my friend, Captain Steve Rogers.”

Steve is a vision of charm as he ever is, bowing before the Jotun and shaking his hand heartily, “it’s an honour to meet you your highness,” he says it and means it, and Thor can tell Loki can tell, because his feigned politeness thaws and turns into a genuine pleased expression.

“The honour is all mine Captain,” Loki curtseys teasingly, the fabric of his clothes dancing as he moves, “I’ve read about you.”

There is this tiny little aching doubt that plays in the pit of Thor’s stomach, just for a single second – where Loki grins so broad his canines show and Steve turns a little flustered at the comment – but then the moment has passed and the Captain shuffles over to where Barnes is shoving popcorn into his mouth with his prosthetic arm.

Barton hands them both a mug of coffee and Thor watches as the prince takes a careful sip. He seems to like the taste of it, smacking his lips delicately before taking another taste, and it isn’t until the hum of approval has come that Thor takes a drink of his own. He hasn’t had Midgardian coffee in a long time, and it’s putting a smile on his face before he’s even swallowed.

The Captain steals some of Barnes’ popcorn and then they’re kissing and Thor smiles because he hasn’t been privy to such affectionate scenes in a long time – Asgardians prefer more subtle signs of their romantic endeavours, even though they are not unused to hugging in public.

Loki turns a very impressive shade of grey at his cheeks, coughing awkwardly as he averts his eyes, “perhaps we should give them their privacy…” he kind of waves his free hand in the direction of where Steve and Bucky have settled on the couch, still kissing.

Barton laughs and throws some popcorn at them before quite rudely flopping down between the two of them, effectively bringing an end to their affections.

“Oh these two will make out _wherever_ ,” the man bristles, wrapping his arms around the men’s shoulders with a look thrown at Loki, “they don’t need any privacy for that.”

Loki turns to Thor a little suspiciously, as if doubting that the new-found information is correct. But Thor just nods brightly, beckoning Loki to follow him out into the hallway to continue the rest of the compound tour. He doesn’t realise, but the prince has finished his cup of coffee and is sipping his own, now. Even if he would have noticed, he’s not sure he would have cared.

It’s pretty stupid trying to deny it when it’s so obvious, but he’s pretty much head over heels for the prince. He introduces Loki to Stark and watches his eyes light up as doctor Banner tells him all about his interest in Jotunheim and when their eyes meet he thinks maybe he knows what Loki is thinking, too, and he thinks at least he _knows_ Loki. There are puzzle pieces still missing but the idea that he needs a full picture to fall in love somehow seems absurd, now, when the man’s wrist tinkles beautifully with his movements, his hand warm where it is pressed into Thor’s bicep.

Maybe the Captain has spiked the coffee with some sort of non-earthling liquor when Thor wasn’t looking but he finds himself thinking that he would follow Loki to the ends of the stars and across galaxies, if it means he can spend telling the remainder of his stories by the prince’s side. If he were ever to lose the man, he would look for him across all the worlds until he found him again, he would chase him to the very edge of the universe.

He’s not sure if Loki can read minds and somehow _knows_ , but there’s a tenderness in his smile and his fingers are soft as they slide down to his wrist. Thor thinks he could follow those bright eyes into his death and he wouldn’t think about it twice – his heart calls for Loki, and it is an aching sound that will not be denied.

Stark has guest quarters prepared next to Thor’s usual room and he announces that their arrival will be lavishly celebrated much to Banner’s amusement. The prince looks impossibly pleased at the news, but Thor isn’t sure what excites him more – have their chambers be so close together, or the prospect of a party.

“Just gimme a couple hours,” he winks at Thor and the man knows immediately he needs that time to get more alcohol and snacks, if he’s planning on having all the Avengers and their friends get drunk tonight.

Loki looks possibly startled at the declaration, whispering haughtily as Stark disappears, “mere _hours_? I haven’t even bathed yet!” before disappearing into his own room in a flurry.

Thor tries not to laugh, but it doesn’t help that he’s seen Loki flustered before official events back in Asgard, and he does make quite the hilarious scene. Instead of fretting himself, he goes back to the shared living room, where Natasha has joined the others on the couch.

He doesn’t give it any more thought, not really. Doctor Banner is curious to hear more about Jotunheim and how Loki came to stay in Asgard and Thor hasn’t spoken to his friend in so long that his mind is mostly preoccupied with being happy and feeling the warmth of the Avengers’ presence soak into his body.

It’s a grave mistake on his side, and in retrospect he should have known better. He has seen Loki at formal functions in the Asgardian court, at feasts thrown in celebration of the harvest and the coming of the Hugin and Munin, he has seen Loki dressed in gracious Jotun style with his mother’s Asgardian influence seeping into the soft fabric; an obsidian buckle low around his hips, a jewel of Frigga’s around his neck. He’s wept at the sight of him too, afterwards in the warmth of his own bed, cried at his beauty and the curse of being faced with it without having any power to possess it.

He’s wearing his hair in a long, loose braid, emeralds woven through it with soft golden wire and free locks falling into his face. To Thor’s utmost surprise, the prince has taken the sunflowers they picked together, and though dry now, he has braided them together with golden chains and trinkets, nestled in his dark hair below his horns, atop which his delicate crown is settled.

There’s a soft lace patterned collar embedded with gems that run down his shoulders Thor is pretty sure is Frigga’s – it runs down into a satin cloak, following the move of Loki’s hands where the fabric is interwoven with the golden bracelets gracing his tender wrists.

He has the usual myriad of chains running down his chest and to his hips, but there’s patterns weaving over his hips and stones in between the chains, the sight of it more luxurious than Thor has ever seen before. His jewelled belt holds up his loin cloth, a dark green fabric woven together with a see-through train that is pooling on the floor behind him.

The markings on his skin seem to shine in the light here, and Thor can’t draw his eyes away. It isn’t until Loki jokes about how the trip must have exhausted him to be staring so brazenly that he finds it in him to tear his eyes away, up to where the prince’s lips have turned up into a bright smile.

Loki reaches out for him, gently touches Thor’s cloak where it is held up with a pin against his one shoulder. Thor can do nothing but stare as Loki picks at a stray bit of lint, his gaze fixated on the fabric before he brings his hand up higher, tucks a lock of Thor’s hair behind his ear.

“Your braid is messy,” the prince scolds, half of Thor’s hair still pulled back even after Sam had jokingly tried undoing it earlier, “I shall fix it for you.”

To Thor’s deepest regret he removes his hands and uses his magic to redo it instead – the smile on the prince’s face as he regards his own handiwork however, is undoubtedly worth it. His eyes stay focused as the braid forms, and he grins indulgently when he’s finished, nudging Thor before allowing the man to lead him down the hall.

That night Thor finds it impossible to keep his eyes off the prince. It seems that no matter where the man is in the room, he can always hear Loki’s voice, coloured with laughter as Natasha whispers something in his ear; feel Loki’s touch, lingering fire where he grasps at Thor’s elbow as he refills his drink; and even as he wanders off, engrossed in the story Barnes tells him, he is always dancing around in the corner of Thor’s sight, never too far that his eyes cannot fall upon the prince immediately when they scan the room.

There’s so many people that it shouldn’t be possible, as there’s always a small group of people surrounding Thor, and the prince is always being whisked off by Tony to be introduced to someone, a Jotun deity a rarity the man is more than willing to show off.

He keeps his eye on him, just to be sure. It’s irrational, he’s quite sure, because Thor isn’t one to usually worry and atop of that he has seen Loki in combat – he has no doubt in his mind that the prince could easily win a fight with anyone in the room if they forced his hand. Added to that is the fact that every single Avenger is in the same building and as such it would be ridiculously unwise to even attempt to harm any of the party-goers.

However, seeing the shimmer of the prince’s crown, hearing the clinking of his bracelets as he lays a hand atop Peter’s shoulder, it soothes the tension from Thor’s stomach, more so than the Midgardian alcohol does.

Thor is in a heated retelling of the story of Hymir and Jormungand, Sam, Barton and the doctor hanging on his every word when Tony and Loki join their group, the latter rolling his eyes at something Stark has said.

“Honestly, Midgardian flirting is even more handsy than Asgardian flirting,” Loki says it more to Stark than anyone else, revealing the topic they had been discussing that has left the prince so exasperated, but it immediately gains everyone’s attention.

“Thor?!” Hawkeye looks between the two of them, his tone haughty and appalled and teasing, so that Thor can only laugh as he pound’s his friend’s shoulder with his free hand.

“It was Gjurd, one of my father’s warriors,” he explains before taking a swig of his drink.

“So,” Sam wriggles his eyes in a manner Thor has come to learn is meant to be suggestive – if anything, Loki seems confused, his face a careful blank, “how is the God’s flirting?”

Thor tells himself he is not _mortified_ because Gods don’t _get_ mortified but if he’s being completely honest he’s _pretty_ mortified – for months now he’s been touching just a little more than he should be, his words and eyes linger and _he_ knows this of course, but he’s always been writing it off as “the Asgardian way” and so far he’s pretty sure Loki hasn’t caught on but what if—

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” Loki’s voice is downright _sinful_ , the tone absolutely delightfully teasing and Thor _knows_ that he knows, he _must_ , “I haven’t had the pleasure to witness it yet.”

His friends’ laughter rings in his ears but his eyes meet Loki’s and then his brain just kind of melts. Because Loki _knows_ that all the stories Thor had told him about how holding hands is custom between friends in Asgardian culture and how exchanging gifts it just daily politeness – all these little white lies that Thor has woven into tales to justify his own improper actions, _Loki knows they’re just stories_.

Their gazes linger and Thor is going under in a sea of crimson, but then Tony is drawing Loki away again and the moment is broken – Thor can breathe again, but it feels painful, as if he’s gasping for air. He’d never imagined falling in love would be so hard on his lungs.

He drinks more pints than he probably should, if only because the little Parker boy won’t stop looking at him as if there is something the matter.

He is overly aware of how many hands Loki has been shaking and all the appreciative looks he's been getting and with every drink he has the awareness seems to kind of grow; the Captain's hand is always on Barnes' hip and his lips curve when Barnes whispers something into his ear and suddenly it seems _vulgar_ how one of Shield's agents grabs onto Loki's forearm as they laugh, how Wanda leans in close as she talks to the prince.

Which is _stupid_ because Bruce's hand is always touching Thor somewhere as they're talking, and Steve has patted his back over a dozen times in the last half an hour so Thor is pretty sure that although he lied blatantly about physical affection being very Asgardian, this behaviour has Midgardian written all over it, and after all these people are only _human_ , they would feel the effects of alcohol and act perhaps a little more unstable than they usually would. He is also sure he's never seen Sam blush like that before and Barton is hiccupping through his sentences, a tell-tale sign of how much he's had to drink.

"Hey," he's just allowed Peter to stick to his biceps to prove the boy will stick to _anything_ , much to Stark's amusement, when the Captain draws his attention, "you should share this with the prince."

He pats down his jeans and then frowns, before triumphantly pulling a small vial from his back pocket. Before Thor can ask him what it is, Barnes joins them, rolling his eyes, "don't give him that Stevie, Bruce said one drop could get any man completely sozzled."

"Yeah but he's a _God_ ," Steve whispers this in a manner that implies nobody in the room is aware of this fact, as if it's the biggest conspiracy since Hydra, the best-kept secret in all the realms.

Thor isn't good with secrets, but somehow he's sure everybody already knows who he is and where he's from and what he does with thunder.

"You know what they say, you can take the boy outta Brooklyn..." actually Thor isn't sure anyone says that ever, but he nods like he does because he probably _should_ , judging by the way Steve is smiling absentmindedly and Barnes is nodding his head knowingly, "actually..."

Barnes goes peculiarly silent, and then without another word, he drags Steve away. They disappear in the crowd, tiny suspicious vial and all, and then Peter is asking him to re-do the sticking thing so they can take a selfie, and Thor is _always_ up for a good selfie.

They reappear again a little later – Thor isn't sure how much time has passed, as he's been tossing Peter around the room to test his stickiness while the doctor takes notes – and Stark hasn't stopped laughing in the longest time now. The same Shield agent hasn’t left Loki’s side yet, and Thor is _not_ jealous, just very much _aware_.

“He told me earlier, so…”

Barnes is peculiarly serious-looking – Thor has seen him hard and then he’s seen him soft, always a handsome smile on his face, ever since they took off his arm and gave him back his Stevie instead. It’s probably the most powerful move the Captain has ever made – despite all the enemies he’s defeated, proud and strong, bringing back his old Sergeant without a moment’s hesitation, is what the young Parker lovingly refers to as “big dick energy” and Thor isn’t sure what it means but he’s sure it’s very good, as none of the other things that Steve has ever done have made him quite so happy.

He shows Thor an old book, bound with faded blue wrapping as its cover. It looks frail and as if it’s about to fall apart, but Barnes thrusts it into his hands nonetheless, a little too rough for how delicate the item looks. _Ulysses_ , it reads in pale white ink on the cover page.

“You should read ‘em this,” Barnes point the thumb of his prosthetic to where Steve is bickering with Stark, Parker standing sheepishly between the two men, “I used to read it to Stevie when he got sick. It was his favourite, Irish writer ‘n all that.”

Thor can’t imagine the Captain _sick_ , but the fact that Loki’s talked about him seems much more important right now. He’s gone and told people about how Thor reads to him and apparently he’s told them he enjoys it too, or Barnes wouldn’t be here recommending books for them to read.

He’s not sure what to say, but then it also doesn’t look like Barnes is expecting him to answer. There’s this bright twinkle in his eyes and he grins, rather cheekily in the corner of his mouth, before turning to join his betrothed.

Thor goes to join the doctor in his heated discussion with Natasha and Barton, except that when he casually scans the room to make sure the prince is still being kept entertained and safe, he can’t actually see him anywhere.

He does _not_ panic. Instead he tries not to let his face obviously drop as he scans the area again more purposely this time. Steve is waving at him from across the room now, nudging his chin into the direction of the balcony.

It’s oddly reminiscent of back when they first met, the night they talked sitting under the Asgardian sky, surrounded by his mother’s flowers and the light of the moons making Loki’s skin glow silver.

The Midgardian sky is much darker, and even as Thor steps outside he cannot see any of the stars in the sky. The bright lights from the party illuminates the stones in Loki’s hair, and the little diamonds woven into his train. He has his face turned away, but by the change in his posture Thor can tell he knows he’s no longer alone – his shoulders grow tense as Thor approaches, his hand clenching against the balustrade.

“Your trains are always so long,” he laughs as he says it, more to announce his arrival than anything else, but it isn’t a lie; the fabric pooling beautifully on the floor.

“They make me appear taller,” the prince is smiling now, Thor can hear it in his voice.

“Loki… you realise Midgardians are tiny, right?” he means that, too, because Loki might be smaller than Thor, he still stands proudly above the Avengers.

The other man doesn’t turn to face him, not even as Thor leans against the railing besides him. The outline of his face is surreal in this light, his high cheekbones shimmering and his gaze downcast. His wrists sing as he moves to fold his hands together, the markings on his palms coiling dark with the lack of light.

“Jotuns are not,” his voice is bitter as he speaks it, and Thor thinks perhaps he’s been handed another piece of the puzzle, right there.

He looks down at the book Barnes gave him earlier – the paper feels fragile just to touch, turned brittle and tawny with age – and wonders if one day people will write their stories too, of Thor and Loki, and all the adventures they had.

He thinks that for so long now he has been determined to figure out Loki’s story, more so than focusing on creating new ones for the prince. It feels selfish suddenly, an unpleasant flavour on his tongue as he thinks it, something he should have thought of sooner.

There’s that sensation of pinpricks of fire that comes with Loki’s touch – without even looking up the prince has reached to grasp Thor’s hand, as if it’s a mere automatism. He weaves his delicate fingers in between Thor and it’s _okay_ , they’ve been doing this for months, but it’s—

It’s a little different. Thor cannot bare to think of himself as anything if not _brave_ , and cowering behind made-up customs just so he can hold onto the prince’s hand is perhaps the most cowardice thing he has ever done.

“Loki, may I kiss you?”

Maybe it’s not the bravest thing he’s ever done – his first time climbing his mother’s apple tree was probably a more scarring experience – but it’s definitely up there in the top five and now Loki won’t stop staring at him.

It’s not a particularly scary look, but he seems to be pondering the question as if there’s a whole sea of possibilities here – Thor has just been counting on one of two options, honestly. However, after a moment of deep thought, he squeezes the hand in his own gently.

“Okay,” he sounds very resolute as he says it, but Thor sees the darker shade of blue that takes over his cheeks.

His crimson eyes close in anticipation and then his wrists sing again as they come up to wind around Thor’s neck. And then they’re kissing, and Thor, for all his love of stories, doesn’t think there is one that quite describes a kiss so perfectly.

There’s thunder behind his eyelids, fire where their lips are touching and he feels set _alit_ , every single fibre of his being alert to the pleasure.

The fire doesn’t go out when they separate, but there’s a dull ache where Thor’s heart has been beating in overdrive. The prince is smiling, and when he smiles he shines, brighter than any sun, and Thor thinks he could never live without this again.

“You’re a very good flirter,” Loki teases, his fingers brushing tenderly at the blond locks falling into Thor’s face, “but I didn’t expect you to take so long.”

Thor feels as if his breath has been taken away – Loki’s body is cool pressed into his front and Thor isn’t sure when it happened but he has goosebumps all over. He feels the electricity tingling at his fingertips, itching at his hips where Loki is dropping his hands and—

This time when they kiss it is to crackling thunder, lighting up the night sky like white hot fire and Loki makes a sound in the back of his throat that is not of this earth.

He thinks he’s burning up for real now, but it’s something different altogether, his power oddly centred despite the current absence of his hammer. There are markings near Loki’s mouth now, like branches of a tree, deep purple in his skin. He licks his lips and Thor watches as the marks fade. He can’t think of anything besides bringing them back.

That night he doesn’t read Loki any stories, but he lets his hands do the talking instead. He thinks that there might still be pages of the prince’s tale that he hasn’t read, but then he also realises that there is no need for them to rush. He will make sure to fill their lives with stories worthy of the proud Jotun, even if it means spending decades adventuring with the man by his side.

He’s pretty sure there’s nothing that would make either of them happier than a lifetime of shared stories.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yaaay! It's finished! This was written for a bigbang and it's my first time joining a bigbang but I really enjoyed it! It pushed me to step out of my comfort zone writing a pairing I've never written before, and I'd been playing with this idea for a while but hadn't gotten around to it, and now I have, so I'm really happy!  
> Thank you for all the support I've gotten from the Thorki bigbang people, and the lovely pangaeastarseed for their artwork and motivational texts! You can find  their beautiful artwork here  so go check it out!


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